It takes more than an origami frog to be forgiven
by Little-Firestar84
Summary: Pilot AU-ish, M rated. "She shook her head. It was time to stop behaving like a silly little girl with a crush on the quaterback. She had no business thinking about Jane that way, they were barely friends, definitely not lovers. They didn't live in a sort of twisted fairytale, after all."


**Disclaimer: **My father is called Bruno, but our surname isn't Heller, so I guess it means that I don't own in any form The Mentalist, Patrick Jane and so on, just this plot, hopefully.

**Notes: **yes, it's been even a loonger time since the premiere of season one than of season twp, but: last couple of years, I've always given my M rated version of the season premiere, and there's no reason to believe that I'll not do soemthing about it this years as well. ergo: considering that back then I wasn't wirting M rated stories, I've suddenly decided, feeling particularly inspired, to give my version of the events of season one and two as well. after yesterday's attempt with season two, here there is season one, deeper and wiht way more feelings than I've first thought possible.

yes: insomnia is a beast, but apparently, it helps me with creativity :)

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She went back to her room keeping an hand in her pocket, holding the small object and gazing it with her fingertips. A small smile graced her lips at the thought of the small jumping origami frog, but it vanished too soon. She couldn't deny being tired and nervous after the last case, and both her mind and her body were screaming at her to do something about it and for few days it had to be enough.

Red John had been a nightmare and a shadow constantly hanging over her head and her life since the first time she had been assigned to the case as lead investigator, but it seemed that, lately, things were progressively escalating and getting worse. It didn't even really mattered that this time it wasn't the actual killer's doing but merely the action of a copycat that was looking for an easy way out: Jane felt the impact every time the killer was nominated, no matter what. Until a couple of years prior he had been to mask his real feelings, his dark and dangerous streak, but lately, the mask seemed to fall into pieces on those occasions.

It didn't mean, though, that she considered him to be dangerous. Those times, Jane was a danger to himself, but mostly, he was lost and broken because of a tragedy so huge he hadn't been able to handle it on his own.

Sometimes, she considered staring at the paper creating on her palm, she wondered if she could be the one finding him in the darkness, healing him. but every time, and now as well, she just shook her head, calling herself silly names like she had been just a girl with a crush on the hot high school quarterback.

She had no business thinking about those things. They weren't living in some sort of twisted fairytale, and besides, she and Jane were barely friends, let alone lovers.

Her eyes were already half closed when she entered her room and like on autopilot she got rid of everything as she made her way to the mini-fridge, craving like never before a string shot of whatever they could offer in that hellhole. When she reached her objective she was already naked and when she kneeled in front of the small open door she moaned enjoying like nothing else the sensation of the cold against her heated skin. She sat on the floor and opened a small bottle, some kind of liquor, not too alcoholic, but extremely sweet. She could taste something floral, but couldn't say what for sure, even if she could swore she had already had it before in her life.

She hadn't had enough to get drunk, she wasn't even really tipsy, she had just lowered her inhibitions a little. She chuckled, in a darkly way: she was tense and nervous, probably high on hormones, with no inhibitions and she hadn't been with a man since Brian had dumped her six months before because he assumed she was sleeping with Jane.

Besides, her nipples were already hard, so why didn't she take advantage of the situation? It wasn't even like she had never touched herself intimately before….

With a lazy smile, lightly chuckling, Lisbon slowly moved her hands, moving them along the whole length of her body; curious fingers caressed her skin, small hands cupped her breaths while she sobbed out of relief, and hardened to the point of pain her nipples. She giggled, and moved to the "real deal", and, framing her clit between two fingers of her left, and opening herself up, she penetrated herself, inserting in her tiny opening two fingers to the hilt, right to the knuckles, the thumb busy pressing on the oh so sensitive skin while she sobbed and panted, filling the air with a cry of pleasure and intoxicating ecstasy of the body.

Staring in front of her into the void, Lisbon opened her eyes, and buckling against her own hand in rhythm with her fingers, she penetrated herself, moving the fingers in and out like she was being fucked by a cock. But it wasn't a male organ, they were merely fingers, and to make it all better, she had to close her eyes once again, and concentrate on her fantasy, suddenly it was Jane's fingers filling her, and he was the one doing such pleasing things to her body.

She cried out, and came calling his name into the semi-darkness, wetting her hands with her juices, her apparently endless climax fuelled by years of longing and the desire to make it all better for that astonishing man. Afterwards, she leaned against the fridge, her forehead and damp skin posed against the cool door, a night comparison and contrast that did nothing but make it all more intense.

She fell on her back, on the cold floor, spread eagle, giggling like a silly girl and out of breath. It was incredible what the man could make her do… she had come to a point where she trusted him and even allowed him to let it go away with almost everything, and even now, in the security and privacy of her own room, his dream, his memory, convinced her to do indecent things. Things that Sister Ann, back in Sunday School, told times after times were one of the biggest sins.

"Well, I wasn't expecting a peep show to lift my morale but thanks anyway, Lisbon…."

She sat, freezing, at the sound of his voice. She dread the moment she'd turn her head towards the bed, and yet she knew she still had to do it anyway…. She looked around, searching for something to cover herself with, but her clothes were scattered across the room, and the closest thing was her matching lingerie set. And, if she had to choose between being seen in the nude by Jane and being seen in such a racy set, she rather prefer being nude.

"C'mon, Lisbon, there's no reason to be modest any longer. I already saw everything that there was to be seen…" he was grinning, she just knew. And, as much as she hated to admit it, as embarrassing as it was, he was right. Jane had seen her naked. Jane had seen her pleasuring herself. Jane had heard her screaming out his name while she was coming. "And I really, really, really enjoyed the show!"

Blushing of a dark red tainted by anger (but somehow thrilled at the same time), Lisbon walked towards her bed, at crossed arms, trying still her best to cover herself up, even if she knew that there was no reason for decency any longer. "Jane, what the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, irritated, but as much as she should have been. There was a certain note in her voice, it was like her vocal cords were trebling with feelings and so many mixed emotion. It was like she was telling him that her voice was telling him to go, but her body wanted him there with her, preferably naked.

Her eyes fell on his groin. She could see an hard on the size of an average skyscraper tenting his hand-made tailored slack. Yes, Jane had indeed enjoyed a lot her little peep show…

"I may have made your life a tiny bit worse lately, and with all the stress and anger of having to deal with a newbie who has no idea about how she is supposed to do her current job, I thought that a massage was in order. To relieve a bit of that tension and anger in your muscles…" he grinned, and when he showed her a small, purple bottle on her nightstand, she couldn't help but blush. Was that massage oil? Indeed. Was that the kind sold in sexy shops, the lubricant kind as well? Definitely. "in case you were still wondering… my massage will be the one that usually ends with the happy ending."

He grinned, and without preambles, he moved like a predator, licking his lips, towards her; he backed her up in a corner, her breathing was short, her pupils dilated, but she still stared at the man in front of her like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, like the man before her eyes was one she had never met before. "Relax, Teresa, you'll love every second of it, I assure you…" he whispered in her ear before beating her lobe. She moaned, and her inner battle was lost. She didn't care whatever he had in mind. If it meant an happy ending of the erotic kind for her… so be it. she didn't care until he used that body and voice of his.

Laughing (strangely and seemly truly happy) Jane grabbed her by the hips, and lifted her over his shoulder, like she was his prey and he was some modern-day Neanderthal claiming her as his own; he threw her on the bed, and followed her, positioning between her already spread legs on his knees.

He took the purple bottle, and once opened, he inhaled the sweet scent, humming in approval moaning. The perfume of vanilla filled the air as soon as he applied a small dose on her waiting opening. She blushed when he grinned and chuckled at her, since he knew that he was well aware that, whatever he had in mind, she was lubed enough on her own without the need of any artificial and external product.

"I thought you wanted to give me a massage…" she asked him, moving sensually her hips up and down, like she was to thrust against his male body.

"Relax, woman, give time to time…." He told her, smiling, applying another dose of lubing oil between his palms.

He scouted on his knees upward, until his hands were level with her breasts, and he cupped them, massaging them in slow, big circles, his thumbs never leaving the hard nipples, making sure they were at their fully capacity. She moaned as he stared at her body with intent, clearly concentrated and somehow even fascinated by the process, and while he was inhaling her scent, their eyes met, and he smiled at her, of a soft smile, almost fearful, though.

He froze, and gulped a mouthful of saliva, tried to say something but then stopped, and then again. She saw his hesitation, and cupped his face, smiling softly as to encourage him, like to tell him everything was well, that he had nothing to be worried about. He took a big breath, and met her eyes, almost scared, and maybe even ashamed. She could understand why. She was seeing the golden band shining on his ring finger, a promise of love and fidelity, and yet, here he was, ready to cross the line with his boss, with a woman who wasn't his wife, couldn't be her…

"Can I kiss you?" he asked her. Lisbon didn't even nod, she simply smiled, and then leaned towards him, breaking the distance between them, and run her lips along his own ones, the tip of her tongue demanding access to his mouth. He granted her such whish, his hands once again busy on her breasts, and their tongues interlaced, dancing, lapping at each other in the most erotic dance known to humankind while they suffocated each other's moan with their sloppy and wet exchange.

He nuzzled her nose, than moved down, doing the same to her chin, her neck, to her shoulders and so on, and every spot he touched he left kisses and bits of pure passion and anger. At the same time, he moved his hands towards her so, so wet core, Teresa's fingers busy massaging his scalp, her laziness a clear indication of how much she was relaxed, how much she was appreciating his sweet torture.

He kept moving south, until he didn't reach his main objective; he nuzzled her groin, and Lisbon's breath died in her throat, as she foretasted what was to come, with both dread and anticipation. She kept still, frozen in time and space, like one of the two only human beings on the planet, when he inhaled her scent, his nose skimming over the tender and sexually aroused tissue.

He was staring at her, like he was some worshipper, and she couldn't understand why. Actually, she was quite scared to ask him out loud, because she didn't want to break the spell, and didn't want to create false hopes in her heart. Jane was about to have sex with her, and her mother had told her many times when she was a young girl that, for men, sex and love were two things very different. A silent tear left her eyes at the thought , and she hoped to God, preyed with all her strength, all her faith, that Jane wouldn't see it. she wasn't ready to explain to him that she was starting to realize that he was more than a simple co-worker for her, and that the emotion run deeper than mere physical attraction.

He kissed her groin, and then flicked her clit with his tongue; she pressed her body against his face, humming in pleasure, and she could feel Jane's grin against her body, inside her body. He positioned his lips on her clit, sucking on it, scratching it slightly with his teeth, nipping at the engorged skin, and at the same time he explored her wet, tight channel with his tongue, lazily but deeply. He thrust in and out of her, like he was having sex with her, and only when Lisbon pressed more strongly against him, he accelerated his movements, giving her the time of her life.

He was humming and moaning against her, drinking the sweet juices she was delivering to make it all the easier– made all the sweeter by the vanilla oil – when she screamed, holding him by the hair so forcefully he actually hurt. She came against his mouth, and he drank her, intoxicated by her scent, by her taste, addicted to her.

Teresa Lisbon was his salvation, she was his anchor, a guiding light in the darkest night, and he knew that, had he wanted, she could have been his second shot ah happiness, at real life, but he couldn't. he wasn't ready yet to let it go completely of his past, and he still had to pay for his mistakes. One day, he would tell her, he knew it, but right now this was everything he could give her, and he hoped she knew, she understood, and was willingly to wait for him.

"Patrick…." She moaned, and lifted him, holding him for his hair. He followed her silent instructions, and when she demanded a kiss, he delivered, eyes half-closed in bliss, reserving a special place in his memory palace for the sounds she was making, how she was enjoying sucking his mouth, the same mouth that still tasted like her sex. No woman had ever allowed him the pleasure of a kiss after having received the attentions of his talented mouth, it was strangely erotic, and almost… exhilarating, in a way he couldn't explain.

"Clothes…." She moaned between kisses, and he suddenly stopped, looking at her quizzically, eyes in the eyes.

"You want your clothes… now?" he asked, disappointed, sounding a bit like a tiny child who couldn't get whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it.

She stared back at him, trying to understand if he was serious and when she saw that yes, he was, she couldn't help it: she started laughing like a maniac, an honest laugh, directly from her belly, such an unexpected show that he followed her, his body resting at her side on the bed. "Your clothes, idiot…" she was able to say. but he wasn't sure. She couldn't stop laughing. He looked at her, sweetly, and unsure, and that, and only that, made her stop. "What?"

"I'm… out of shape, as to say. it's been a while since… last time." He admitted, without being unable to look at her in the eyes, like this admission was something he was supposed to be ashamed of. "And… I wasn't sure I could… that I can… give you what you want… and need." He finally admitted.

She cupped his face, and kissed him sweetly, and went on her feet, offering him her hand so that he could stand as well. He looked at her quizzically, but Lisbon's smile had him mesmerized, so he followed every whish of the woman, every single order.

She wondered if he knew she was…. Honored to be the first woman he was doing this with, that it was romantic, sad but romantic nevertheless, being witness to such a love and devotion, something she honestly believed extinct, just novel material. But still, here he was, Patrick Jane, the picture of the perfect gentleman, three pieces, curls like a fallen cherub, a smile to die for, and feelings so deep…. She… she knew she wasn't supposed to live on false hopes, but there was a part of her that really hoped that one day he would give her the same he had given to his late wife.

"What are you doing, Teresa?" he asked, with a provocative smile, when his vest hit the floor.

"But undressing you, of course" she smiled, and laughed, biting her own lips, her hands busy with his light blue shirt. Such a nice shirt, but it had to go away for now.

"But I thought I was supposed to give you a massage…" he whispered, his breath hot on her face, his smile the only light she needed in the room.

"I only need you, Patrick" she answered him, and kissed him, as her hands removed in a swift motion the last two barriers between them, his slacks and his underwear. "And if you are out of shape… let me do it, Patrick. Let me do this for you…" she asked, begged, between kisses.

She walked back to the bed, and made him sat, and straddled his thighs, her forehead against his own, eyes in the eyes. She could feel Jane's panting breath against her own face, could see the fear in his eyes, and felt like crying for this man. Jane was scared of not being enough for his lover, and who was scared of betraying the memory and the love of a woman he thought he could have killed with his own hand for what it was worth.

"I have you, Patrick…" she told him, kissing him on the lip, one hand cupping his face, the other guiding his rigid length towards her swollen entrance. "I got you…"

She impaled herself on him, and rocked back and forth in small circles, slowly, Jane still rigid underneath her, still trying to regain his control, his composure. It could only be hell for him, she thought, losing control, him, a man who had devoted his life to control every aspect of his existence.

He took a big breath, opened his eyes, looked at her face, and everything was finally clear. Lisbon was happy, and was there, doing that for him. and he wanted to be there for her, for that, and he wanted for them to be happy, maybe not now, but…

He met her movements, his hands lifting her ass enough to allow them to increase their tempo, guiding her. he could already feel the abyss touching his soul, calling for him, the promise of oblivion in her arms, her thigh channel swallowing him again and again, her body made seemingly for matching his. He kissed her breasts, still tasting the vanilla, and sucked her nipples, bringing Teresa closer to the abyss, at the same place he was, desiring like nothing before to be there with her at the same time.

She started to clench her sheath around him, and again she took possession of his curls, again she drove him towards her lips. She came again, her whole body trembling, her fingers and toes curling, and when he erupted in her, hot balsam filling her with delicious sweetness and affection, she swallowed their screams of pleasure and delight with her lips, with her kisses.

They fell on the bed, one against the other, and curled under the covers, still naked. He nuzzled her hair, like she did with his neck, and both hoped that it wasn't the last time, and that one day it could be more than just that, comfort sex or the need to release some tension.

It already was, but they didn't know it yet, because they weren't ready to talk yet, there was still too much between them. but one day, Jane swore looking at ring belonged once to Angela, he was going to belong to this woman. One day, once he could call himself finally a free man, he would be hers, and he would be wearing a ring with the name Teresa Lisbon Jane engraved in the gold.

One day. Not now. Or maybe… never. But if she could hope and dream, so could he. Because, after all, she was his anchor, and his guiding light.


End file.
